The Detective and the Writer
by KyleHydeWindow
Summary: FBI Agent Borello is teamed up with Agent York,a strange FBI Agent with a unique personality.Whilst investigating the murder of a young girl,they come across a writer who has seemingly lost his memory.Are these two events connected?


Detective Rudy Borello reached into his jacket pocket, searching for his cigars. His new partner, Tracy, was searching the crime scene. This one had been particularly gruesome. The girl had been raped, her blonde, youthful hair had been thrust viciously down her now severely bruised throat. Her hands had been severed, and placed on her face, covering her lifeless, empty eyes, in the same way a child would play peek-a-boo with their parents. A heart had been carved into the left breast. A sign of love, or the signature of the killer? Borello sighed. He couldn't jump to conclusions, no matter how swiftly he wanted to end this nightmarish case.

Lighting his cigar, all Borello could think about was the music playing when he had arrived at the scene. A radio, playing 'Amazing Grace' had been found taped to a nearby tree. As if the case wasn't disturbing enough already, a whole new dimension to how he had to perceive things now. Could have been a religious killing. Could have been a jealous lover. Or, as more often than not in his previous cases, it could be a sick bastard in serious need of help.

Tracy came walking over slowly, looking extremely pale in the dense moonlight. From the look on her face, Borello could tell he wouldn't like what he was about to hear.

"Rudy…"

_Go on…_

He could tell she was having trouble taking it in. From the moment they arrived, she had seemed distant, withdrawn, and petrified. Borello didn't blame her. He'd seen some bizarre cases in his time, but this was among the most obscure, sickening crimes he'd ever witnessed. Tracy took a deep breath, trying to stop her whole body from shaking violently.

She stared at Borello, handing him a small scrap of paper. Unfolding it hesitantly, his eyes never broke contact with hers. Tracy's eyes began to well with tears, her lips quivering with the same force of a small earthquake. Borello looked down sharply, reading the contents of the note. It was written in blood, presumably the dead girl's. Tracy was whimpering, her body convulsing with a mixture of sadness and rage.

"Borello…How could you? How could you…" Tracy collapsed onto the soft, wet ground, howling wildly. Borello was speechless. He had no idea what was going on. His head began to spin rapidly, his body screaming in anger.

"How could you?"

A loud, piercing ringing sound made Borello scream in agony. He hit the ground and began to writhe in pain, the rest of his vintage cigars spilling onto the floor. All he could see was the girl's dry, cracked lips, and her face, once full of vigour and energy, staring at him accusingly.

"How could you, detective?"

The ringing sound became louder. Borello's vision began to fade. Sweat poured down his face, his mouth as dry as a desert. Screaming at the top of his lungs, the whole world appeared to be shaking with the same ferocity as a roller-coaster.

_Make it stop! _He tried to say the words aloud, but his mouth lost the ability to move. All that emerged were gasps for air. He began to thrash his head against the floor aggressively, until a stream of blood was running from his forehead,turning the ground a sickening shade of red. Looking upwards slowly,he saw a young girl staring at him, her pure white dress sway ever-so-slightly in the night breeze. She raised her hand slowly,pointing in Borello's direction.

_Me?_

_Yes. _

The girl's lips hadn't moved an inch. How could she have spoken to him? Blinking wildly, out of equal amounts of pain and confusion, he noticed the girl's dress begin to shine with the power of a star. Squinting in pain, Borello watched as the girl vanished into thin air,leaving no evidence of her ever been there behind. Filled with paranoia, Borello slowly rised to his feet. Tracy, and the body for that matter,had disappeared.

_What the fuck is going on?_

Suddenly,he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. Spinning round rapidly, Borello was greeted with a familiar face. The face cracked a smile.

"Long time no see, Rudy!"

_Me?_

'Rudy' shook his head solemly.

"You need to stop day-dreaming!"

_What?_

"I said, WAKE UP!"

The world became void of life. Everything disappeared. Borello looked down in horror as his body began to evaporate. He closed his eyes, accepting that whatever madness that had just transpired was there to mark the end of his life.

He had no idea how long had passed before he dared to open his eyes once more. And when he did, he was greeted with Tracy's warm, loving smile, tears running down her face.

"Thought we'd lost you for good there! They weren't sure if they could save you!"

Using all his willpower to look to his side, Borello could see a discarded gun by his arm. His stomach felt wet. He didn't need to look down to guess what had happened. Closing his eyes once more, he prayed that the next time he got shot, he'd be killed instantly, rather than having to suffer through hell again.

_So,yes. It began with a dream…_

_6 months later…_

"Why hello there! Welcome to Southgrove hotel! You've certainly chosen the right hotel to stay at on your visit here! We have the best rooms available,we have two TVs! TWO! What more could you ask for when staying at Southgr-"

Borello raised his hand, signalling to the over-enthusiastic hotel owner that he'd heard enough.

"I've just travelled…a long, long way to get here. I just need to grab some shuteye.

The man raised his eyebrows slowly. This guy was irritating him. From the moment he had entered the hotel smoking cigars, to the moment that had just passed, with the distinctive smell of alcohol laced on his breath, Clover knew he'd be trouble. Damn city boys.

"I'm sorry,Mr…?"

"Borello."

"I'm sorry,Mr Borello,but we are currently have no rooms available. If I could take your details,we can contact you if one becomes ava-"

"I've made a reservation already."

Looking down at the room listings,Clover noticed that,next to room 65,was the name Borello. He took in Borello's appearance slowly. The tattered leather jacket,the scuffed navy-blue jeans,and the stains on his crimson-coloured tie (coffee?) all went against who he imagined this Borello detective to be. Maybe it was a different Borello. Clover sincerely hoped it was.

"Just checking…but you are RUDY Borello,right?"

"One and only."

Clover's heart sank.

"Ah,I see...Well,the last guest in room 65 is still packing,so you may have to wait a little while 'till the room is ready,I hope that's not a problem."

_Damn right it's a goddamn problem…_

"No,it's fine."

Clover couldn't take his eyes off of Rudy,who was drumming his fingers impatiently on the reception desk. Each tap brought up small clouds of dust which disappeared in an instant. He couldn't believe that this was Detective Rudy Borello, the same man who was sent to investigate the recent murder in the small,idyllic town of Southgrove.

Borello looked across at Clover,the two of them making eye contact for the first time. From the expression of disbelief drawn across his face,Borello knew exactly what the hotel owner was thinking.

"Trust me,I'm the best at what I do."

_Note to self:stop reading comic books._

"Huh?"

"I may not look like it,but I'm good at my job."

"I didn't say that you weren't."

"You were thinking it."

"No,not at all! I just expected you to be…well…You're not exactly what I think of when I picture a detetective."

"Really? That's a new one."

"I meant no disrespect."

"Save it for someone who cares. I really don't care what you think of me. Couldn't give a rat's ass if you thought I was Judas.I'm here to investigate the murder of Sa-"

"Sarah, I know. The whole town is in an uproar. This is the sorta place where everyone knows everyone,y'know? So everyone is on edge."

Borello's eyes widened. Maybe something useful could be gained from talking to this prejudging fool other than a migrane.

"You knew her?"

"Yeah,kinda. She was a friend of a friend of a friend, y'know how it is. You see 'em,but you don't consider them a friend, know what I mean?"

"No, I don't."

Clover began shifting around uncomfortably.

_That's the reaction I wanted. Kill the small talk,cut through the bullshit._

Before Borello could ask anymore questions, a young man, dressed in a dark black suit appeared behind him. To Clover's surprise, a genuine smile began to show on Borello's face.

"I wondered when you'd be here to greet me, York!"

Agent Francis York Morgan grinned.

"Well,Rudy...Welcome to Southgrove."


End file.
